The Weight on My Soul
by Fall Risk the Trash Panda
Summary: It was the worst call of the worst shift and all of the men on scene knew it. The beast that they fought knew it. Even the people watching knew it... WARNING for suicidal thoughts, lots of angst, child death, and PTSD subtext. As always, i am just borrowing the boys and will return them when prompted.


The Weight on My Soul

It was a bad call.

The worst call.

It was the worst call of the worst shift and all of the men on scene knew it. The beast that they fought knew it. Even the people watching knew it.

The fire gobbled at the two-story home… the picture book home. The home that once had pretty blue siding; light blue siding, not the gaudy kind. Now it was black. A once red door that now smoldered and buckled under heat. Even the white picket fence was stained by ash and soot.

Fireman raced all around the yard, tearing up the ground and turning the once lush lawn into mud. Water was poured on the fire as it gleefully consumed the fuel before it. The gathered men had given up any hopes of saving the structure, now they just sought to contain it. To keep the flames from spreading to the other picture book homes that lined the once safe street. They sought to control the fire long enough for those inside to escape the monster.

Off to the side, in the background, a family watched, horrified. Their world was shattering. Their lives were being consumed… everything they knew, everything they had, everything they owned, it was all being taken from them. They were homeless, perhaps penniless now, but that wasn't what horrified them. That wasn't why they stared intently at the front door reciting frantic prayers. That wasn't why the women sobbed loudly, or why her husband clung to her desperately. That wasn't why their teenaged son looked more like a scared toddler than a young man.

The reason why emerged from the flames in the arms of a fireman. The last fireman to clear the building after the retreat signal sounded. The flames leapt after him as he rushed from the structure; one last attempt to claim him as a victim. But it would not succeed, for as soon as the fireman cleared the door, there were two of his brothers to charge forward and safe guard his retreat. The fireman didn't even notice.

The young man ran from the building with a limp bundle of what appeared to be blankets. But if you looked closely, you could see the outline of a body. If you were paying attention you could catch a glimpse of singed curls. Men moved out of the fireman's way as he raced to a squad car. A few, those who were unfortunate enough to see and comprehend, paused and watched after him for a moment. Some said prayers, some bowed their heads; all who saw understood.

The fireman put his bundle down by a squad, where his partner already was prepared for him. Where his captain had come over to see what he could do. Across the yard, the family was on their feet, moving towards them. The fireman saw this, and he frantically told his captain, "They shouldn't see this! Don't let them see this!"

The captain hesitated a moment, understanding the meaning of those words. But the moment passed, it had to; he had a job to do. Signaling to his fellow captain on scene, the two smoke eaters quickly headed off the family and held them back. The mother tried desperately to push past the men, the father yelled and hollered, and the boy begged and pleaded, but it was all to no avail. The words the fireman had told his captain rung too loudly in the man's mind for him to hear anything else.

As for the fireman, he was unusually frantic in his work. He had shed away his turnout gear and stripped off the mask harshly before, with a much gentler hand, he pulled the blanket away from his bundle. His partner kneeled next to him, and could not bring himself to look at the body before him. The smell was enough to tell him that he didn't want to see.

The fireman was quick, assessing what he could. He knew that he had lost before he even began, but he had to try. He refused to give up. But there was no pulse. There was no breathing. And even if there had been… the skin that was visible was charred. The pretty pink cotton nightgown still smoldered. The curly hair fell from her head in clumps…

Still the fireman tried. He pressed his hands on her chest, counting to himself; _1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10… 1… 2… 3…._

He could hear his partner on the phone. He could hear the sadness as he relayed the details to the doctors. He knew what they would say. He knew what was coming. He could feel it all around him. The air had chilled; the chaos had quieted. He could sense the eyes of his fellows on him, watching the tragedy. He could hear the wailing cries of the mother and he knew she knew too. He could hear the father cry out to God, and the boy call out a name… a pretty name for a pretty little girl… And he could hear the roaring of the fire as it laughed. As it feasted. As it consumed.

And so he fought.

He kept pushing on the little girl's chest even though he could feel his hands burning from the heat of her body. Even though he could feel her ribs cracking and her skin crumbling away like ash. He kept trying because she deserved it. He kept trying because she was a child who hadn't gotten the chance to live. He kept trying because he didn't know how he could live with this on his soul.

He kept trying until his partner placed his hand on his shoulder. "Johnny…" he said, softly, a whisper. And then he knew, it was over.

"Time of death, six thirty five, per Dr. Bracket" Roy said softly.

-line-

Chet Kelly pulled into his brother's driveway. He sighed and slowly climbed out of his car, eyes downcast. Moving like an old man, he dragged himself to his brother's door. Before he could knock, it was flung open and he barely had time to catch the small bundle that flung itself at him.

"Un'cle Chet! Un'cle Chet! Play dollies with me!" called the happy voice of his four-year-old niece.

Chet stood and held the small girl tightly, tears in his eyes. "Absolutely princess, absolutely," the lineman said, tears falling from his eyes into her red curls.

"Why your eyes leaking un'cle Chet?" the little girl asked, pushing against his chest so she could look at his face.

"Because I love you very much," Chet replied and kissed her forehead. She giggled as his mustache tickled her.

"Come on, Lizzie, let your uncle in. He hasn't had breakfast yet," came the steady voice of Chet's older brother, Peter.

"You haven't had bre'kfest?" the little girl cried. She started squirming, demanding to be set down. Chet obliged and watched with a sad smile as the girl darted back into the house calling, "I get you my cheerios!"

He stood still for a moment, before sighing and looking up to his brother, "Thanks Peter."

Peter Kelly smiled at his brother and pulled him into a warm hug. Peter, a police officer, understood exactly what his little brother was going through this morning. When Chet had called him to ask if he could see Lizzie, Peter had decided to go one step further and had called the rest of the Kelly family. In an hour or so, his parents, sister and brother-in-law, aunt, and a few cousins would be over. Already, his wife was setting about making a pie and boiling potatoes. Chet was not going to be alone to deal with the tragedy he had witnessed; his family was going to see to that.

"Come on in Chet, Lizzie makes great Cheerios," Peter joked, breaking the hug, "And Molly is making a pie. The others will be here soon."

Chet smiled, a tired but real one, and followed his brother into his home.

-line-

Marco Lopez sat in his sister's kitchen, a plate of food in front of him. His brother-in-law sat across from him telling a story about one of the dogs he had treated the other day in the veterinarian practice that he worked for. Behind him his sister and mother were arguing about how much salt to add to a dish. The radio played a Mariachi band and there was a cool breeze coming in from the window. Outside, in the back yard, his sister's dogs barked at something, and he could hear children playing out in the street.

The noise was overwhelming. His mind was being assaulted with so many sounds that it couldn't process it all, and he reveled in it. This chaos was life, beautiful, beautiful life, and he needed it today. He laughed along with his brother-in-law. He ate the food that his mother kept giving him and complimented his sister on how wonderful her chili smelled. When the music changed to a Mexican folk song, he clapped his hands and grabbed his mother to dance with her.

Not to be out done, his brother-in-law grabbed his wife and began to dance too. Soon the kitchen was filled with laughter and the sounds of very bad singing. And Marco was filled with peace as the memories of that awful earl morning fire were chased away by the wonderful, loving chaos of his family.

-line-

Mike Stoker quietly closed the front door of his home. He breathed in deep for a moment, letting the scent of oatmeal cookies and fresh coffee chase away the lingering smoke. The sounds of dishes clanging and running water alerted Mike to his wife's location.

Dropping his duffle by the door he made his way there. He paused in the hallway a moment when he saw his wife standing at the sink washing dishes. The light coming in from the kitchen window hit her just right to make her glow. He noticed that she had cut her hair while he was at work. It now fell just to her shoulders in pretty waves. Not a usual style for her, but he liked it. He smiled tiredly watching her as he realized that she didn't have her hearing aids in.

Mike entered the kitchen and flickered the lights to get her attention. She turned around, startled at first before her face broke into a beautiful smile. Turning off the water, and drying her hands on her apron, she made her way to her husband as quickly as her swollen belly would allow.

Mike met her halfway and hugged her tenderly. It was a long moment before he released her, but only just enough so he could look at her. She let him, reading the signs of heartache in his posture. She brought a dainty hand to his face, her brow knitting in concern, before signing in ASL, "What's wrong?"

Mike reluctantly let her go so he could reply. He signed back, "We lost a little girl."

Understanding filled his wife's eyes and she nodded. She took her husband's hands and placed them on her belly. As if on cue, Mike felt the baby kick, and he smiled. He leaned forward and kissed his wife softly.

He was home.

-line-

Hank Stanley sat in his favorite leather chair, a book discarded on his lap. He stared out the living room window without seeing what was there. In his mind, he watched a house collapse as he attempted to console an inconsolable mother.

There was a soft knock on the entranceway, and Hank startled from his thoughts. He looked up to see his children, Lori and Susan, standing there. They both shifted nervously; they had been warned by their mother to leave their father alone. But the two teenagers had both agreed that their father looked too sad sitting in the living room pretending to read. They didn't know what had happened. Their father never shared the bad stories with them. But they knew that they had to do something to help.

"Sorry to bother you Pop, but Susan and I… we were going to take Mickey for a walk. Would you like to come?" Lori asked holding up the dog's leash.

"Please papa?" Susan added, "that way we can walk down to the park and skip stones."

Hank looked from his oldest to his youngest and fought back tears. Silently he said a prayer of gratitude for his children and their innocence. What he had seen today, what he had experienced this past shift, it couldn't simply be forgotten with a walk.

 _But,_ Hank thought to himself as he pushed himself up, _I most certainly can try._

-line-

Joanne Desoto was waiting for her husband with a fresh cup of coffee and a fresh plate of eggs. But her first look at him when he walked into the kitchen told her that the nourishment would do little good. Wordlessly, she took his duffle from him and set it in the mudroom. She quickly returned to her firefighter and held him. Just held him.

At first, he was stiff, but quickly he began to relax and soon he was returning the embrace. She rubbed circles in his back and ran her hand through his hair. She said nothing when she felt tears drip onto her neck, just held him tighter. They stood like that for a long time, but Joanne didn't care. She would hold Roy forever if it meant she could fix what was wrong.

But Roy was gathering himself and growing restless. So she released him and guided him to his chair, making him sit. She stayed with him while he ate, again saying nothing until she was satisfied with the amount he finished, "Tell me."

Roy sighed, and he couldn't look his wife in the eyes. "The whole shift was bad… we lost a grandfather to a heart attack… there was a car accident with two people dead when we got there and one who might not make it… and to top it all off the fire this morning… a little girl… it felt like none of us could save a single person…."

Joanne felt her heart break for her husband who she knew took every death personally. She reached out and took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly until he looked up at her. "You cannot save every one and you cannot hold yourself responsible for the ones who died," she said.

"I'm supposed to be able to…" Roy replied, almost angry.

"You're supposed to try. Some times, that means failing. So you try harder next time, and maybe then you succeed. Or, maybe the next person is too sick or too injured and you can't save them. But you still try. You get up each day; you answer each call, knowing you will face the same demons that left you so tired the time before. That my love, is bravery," she said to him.

Roy paused for a moment to consider his wife and her wisdom. Then, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Joanne Desoto, I think I love you," he said softly.

She smiled and patted his check. "The monsters are outside, go tell them you're home? Chris has been waiting to tell you something. You'll be proud of him."

"I always am," Roy said with a tired smile as he stood. He made his way to the back door and took a moment to gather himself before he ventured out. Joanne watched him from the kitchen window as he allowed himself to be tackled by the children. She smiled as her husband staggered to his feet, a child in each arm, and spun them around.

Satisfied all was well for the moment, she moved from the window to the fridge and pulled out lunchmeat. Today she would make a picnic and her family would go to the beach. Today, she would make sure her husband experienced life.

-line-

Johnny Gage drove.

He was aimless… lost….

Exhaustion dogged him, his body begged for a bed and rest. But John Gage refused. He did not, could not, go home. He couldn't face the empty apartment, the silence that awaited him there. He had no brother or sister to go see. He had no wife and children to greet him at the door. He had no mother to hold him and chase the memories away. He was left alone to face the demons of the day.

He drove faster, clearing the city limits and trying to out run the voices in his head. Trying to escape the ghosts of the ones he had failed.

There was the grandfather whose heart he couldn't restart even though his arms and back ached from the chest compressions. Even though he exhausted himself, he hadn't been fast enough. He hadn't been strong enough. He wasn't good enough…

With the car accident, they had been dead before he had even reached them. He knew that. Still, there was something that he should have done; something he should have tried. But there was someone who was still alive in the wreckage that he and Roy could try to save. So he had turned his back on the other two for the one.

Then there was the little girl.

Her death… hers weighed the heaviest on him. She was a scared six-year-old who had hidden from the flames. He had found her in her room… At first he had thought, had prayed, that she was a doll. But the smell… he knew by the smell that she wasn't.

He had acted with out thinking, because if he had thought he would have crumbled in that room. He would have fallen to the ground and let the smoke and flames take him too. But he didn't think, he grabbed the blanket from the girl's bed and used it to put out the fire that almost covered her body. He used it to wrap her up and then he ran. He ran from that pretty pink room with the dolls on the shelf and pictures of owls on the walls and a closet that was fully involved.

He could have sworn that he felt her moving in his arms as he broke through the door. His mind knew it wasn't possible, but he could have sworn she was breathing. After all, she was a child. A baby… babies didn't die. Fireman saved little girls, they saved them from the smoke and the flames and all the bad things that could hurt them. But he knew, not this time. Not today. Still he had to try. He had to.

And he failed.

The grandfather had been old, he had lived his life and it was his time to go. The people in the car, they had been speeding. They ran a stop sign. They didn't deserve to die, but it had happened before he got there. The little girl… that was his fault. That was his failure. There was no one to blame for her death except for him.

 _Should have been faster, Gage; should have done more._ _You could have saved her if you had only been better._

The words repeated in his mind over and over and over again as he made his way north. He was speeding now, almost recklessly so. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know what he was going to do, he just knew that he had to out run the ghosts.

-line-

The sun was setting.

He knew he had to turn around. He knew that he had to head back home soon or he would never make it back. Part of him didn't care. Part of him didn't want to go back. How could he go back and face his failure?

He sat on the hood of his car and watched the sun, contemplating his options. His whole life, he had only ever wanted to live up to his father, the hero firefighter who had died saving a family. He had grown up wishing to be half the fireman that his father was, to some day make him proud. His actions, his failure, this past shift certainly made that dream an impossibility now. Who could ever be proud of him with so much death on his soul? Who could look at him now and not see the ghosts that haunted him?

Johnny could feel the weight of them pressing on him. He could hear their cries and accusations. How could he have failed them? With all of his training, all the skills and equipment, how could he have failed so miserably?

 _Should have been quicker. You should have been better. You could have saved her…_

The words had become a mantra in his head and he felt them breaking him. If he had been faster, if he had been better, he could have saved her. His father would have saved her. He should have.

In his mind Johnny saw the girl clear as day. She was lying on the floor with flames covering her body. He had put the fire out and scooped her up. He had ran from the room and gotten her to the squad. He had pushed and pushed on her chest, had broken her ribs and tried so hard…. And he had failed. Firemen were supposed to save little girls, and he had failed in that. Paramedics were supposed to keep little girls alive, and he had failed in that yet again.

He was not a fireman. He was not a rescue man. He was not even a paramedic. He was nothing. For the first time in his life, John Gage felt that he had no right to be alive.

"Hello there lost one," a creased voice called softly behind him causing Johnny to jump. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised that there was another person there or that the voice had spoken in Pomo, his tribes langue.

The fireman nearly fell from his car when he saw an old woman making her way to him. She was dressed in jeans and a simple cotton blouse with her graying hair pulled back from her face. She wore nothing that was abnormal, except for finely crafted beaded jewelry that Johnny had often seen on the women of his tribe. There was nothing apparently odd about her, except that Johnny couldn't shake the strange feeling that crept up his spine when he looked at her.

"Uh… hello," Johnny stammered back in Pomo, surprised that the words he had long ignored came back to him so quickly.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" the women asked a smile warming her face.

"I was thinking…" Johnny replied, nervous energy filling him though he didn't know why. His eyes darted around, trying to see where she had come from. He hadn't heard any other cars drive by, and hadn't expected to. Coyote Mountain was an isolated spot; he had picked it for that reason.

"You were not thinking happy thoughts, your face shows me that," she said as she moved past Johnny to the edge of the cliff that the young man was parked at.

"Careful!" Johnny cried, "The edge is unstable…"

The women looked over at Johnny with an amused smile, "And yet you parked so close to it." She looked back out to the setting sun and watched it a moment before saying, "My name is Di. What is yours?"

"Uh… John… Johnny," John answered, unsure of why his own name sounded so wrong to his ears.

"Not your white name," Di said softly, "What is the name the Elders gave you at your naming?"

Johnny shifted nervously, he had never told anyone outside of his tribe what his given name was. This women was stranger, a stranger who had come to him speaking a language he hadn't heard in years, and demanding to know secrets that he had long concealed. He should have been furious; he should have gotten in his car and driven away. But he wasn't, he was in fact, strangely comforted.

"Wenutu," he whispered, and this time the name felt right.

"The calm after the storm… it is not a Pomo name, it is a heritage name; one that comes from being forced to live amongst so many other tribes. Still, it is a good name." Di smiled as she turned back around to face Johnny.

"In all my years upon this Earth, I have not seen someone who looks so lost and lonely as you, Wenutu. Why have you come here?"

Johnny could not meet the woman's eyes. He was not ready to admit to himself the reason he had come here, let alone a stranger. But he felt a compulsion, a need, to answer the question, he just didn't know why. "I… I failed. I came… I don't deserve to live when I should have saved them… I shouldn't get to live when a little girl has to die."

There was silence for a long moment as the words settled into the space between the woman and Johnny. He felt tears burn his eyes, but he didn't move to wipe them. He was shamed, and he was locked in his despair. He could hear the accusations of the dead so clearly in his mind, and he knew only one way to make them stop. He thought it weak and cowardly, but he could not bear to live with these ghosts… with her ghost.

Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a wrinkled hand touch his face to wipe away his tears. He looked up into rich brown eyes that shone with wisdom and pure compassion. He was locked into those eyes and though his body was shaking, he could not look away. The power in them was overwhelming, and he felt himself lost to the depth of the women's soul.

"Is that truly the reason you came here, Wenutu? Is that truly why you came to Coyote Mountain? Is that why you chose this place, a place that is but miles from your ancestors and family? Did you truly come here to end your life so close to home?"

"I…I couldn't save her! Little girls aren't supposed to die! She shouldn't have died! I should have been faster!" Johnny shouted, and his tears quickly turned to sobs as he finely allowed himself to greave for the life that he couldn't save. The woman wrapped her arms around the young man and rocked him as he cried, just as a mother would her child.

She hummed a soft song while Johnny sobbed, and allowed the man to take his time to gather himself. She did not rush him; she did not belittle him. She comforted him. When he was finished she wiped his eyes once again, and before he could feel shame for his actions, she spoke softly, "Do you want to hear what the ghosts are really saying?"

Johnny felt his heart speed up. He had no desire to hear the accusations or the screams of the dead. He had no wish to face them and see their anger and pain. He was given no chance to say no, however.

If John Gage were ever to try to explain what happened next, he would be locked up in a nut house. He himself was absolutely sure he had lost his mind, yet he was also absolutely sure that what he was experiencing was real. He had opened his mouth to tell the woman no, but she wasn't there. Neither was the ground, or his car, or the mountain, or anything else except the sky. He was adrift in the sky.

But he wasn't alone.

In front of him stood the four. The four ghosts that he had so desperately tried to out run, they now had him cornered. He tried to run, tried to hide, but he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything as the grandfather approached him slowly. He was terrified.

He shouldn't have been. When the grandfather reached him, he enveloped Johnny in an enormous hug. "Thank you… thank you for trying, for not giving up. Thank you for not letting my grandson watch his Pop-pop die." Then the grandfather disappeared and Johnny felt his body shake with relief.

The next to approach him were the two from the accident, and though he was still afraid, Johnny was no longer terrified. Neither one of the boys tried to hug him, but they both stood shoulder to shoulder meeting his eyes. "Is Jimmy going to be okay?" asked the one Johnny recognized as the driver.

"I…I think so," Johnny answered, finding his voice. "We got him to the hospital in time."

"Thanks… Jimmy's our best friend," said the second boy, the one who was in the passenger's seat. "He was getting ready to leave for the Army. We wanted to show him a good time before he left."

"Just remember, fireman, one thing for us?" The driver asked.

"Sure," Johnny said feeling tears forming in his eyes.

"We didn't feel nothing. There was no pain. We were gone before you could get to us, and you saved Jimmy."

Johnny blinked rapidly a few times trying to fight the tears back. When he managed to see clearly again the two boys were gone. The only ghost left was the little girl.

She looked just the way she should, her hair in pigtails, a blue jean jumper over top a green shirt, and a bright happy smile. Johnny fell to his knees and held open his arms for the little girl. "Gracie?" he called softly, remembering the name that her family had cried over and over again at the fire.

The little girl's smile widened and she skipped over to Johnny, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. Johnny hugged her tight, and cried softly for a moment before she pulled away. Johnny let her, though it hurt him to do so. She felt so alive in his arms, and that was all he wanted; for her to be alive.

"I'm sorry," she said with all the sincerity of her young age.

"Why are you sorry honey? You don't have anything to be sorry for…" Johnny said, flabbergasted.

"I was scared. I hid because I was scared and you had to come in and find me," Gracie said.

"But I'm supposed to find you. I'm supposed to come get you… That's what firemen do," Johnny said, fresh tears running down his face.

The little girl's face brightened, "You did! You did find me! And I'm not scared anymore. I'm safe now."

"But I couldn't save you," Johnny whispered.

"But that's not your fault. I hid. And I was scared. But you found me and you took me to my mommy. I'm not scared anymore."

Johnny could say nothing, so he simply hugged the little girl again one last time before she too disappeared. Then John was alone in the sky. He didn't seem to notice, or to care, as he kneeled with his face in his hands, once again allowing the grief to leave his body.

From the distance a coyote cried, startling John awake from his dream. He looked around him widely for a long moment, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. He could not comprehend how a dream could feel so real. While he tried to reconcile that thought, a word drifted to the forethought of his mind, Diwi… coyote. Coyote was the great spirit, the creator…

" _Why did you come here?"_

The question followed the word and Johnny no longer cared why his dream seemed so real. He no longer questioned the visions he had seen. He could put it down as a side effect of spending nearly a day in his car driving aimlessly, or maybe some kind of hallucination from sleep deprivation. It didn't change the fact that it felt real. It didn't change the fact that it showed him why he was really there. Slowly he climbed off his car's hood and into the driver's seat. It was six thirty, he still had time to make it if he hurried.

-line-

Roy's home phone rang, and he lazily climbed up from his spot on the couch. "Desoto residence," he said, trying to hide a yawn.

"Hey Roy, it's Chet."

"Hey Chet. What's going on?" Roy asked and he glanced over to his wife who had just come in from the kitchen. She looked at him, quizzical, but all he could offer was a smile.

"Well, Marco and I, we were going to go fishing. Want to come?"

"That sounds great Chet, but I can't. Joanne's got a list of chores a mile long for me to do," Roy answered.

"Oh… well, what about Johnny? Is he there with you?"

Roy felt his heart beat speed up just a bit, "No. Haven't seen him since we left work…"

"Huh. He's not answering at his place. Guess he went camping," Chet said, though he didn't exactly sound reassured.

"Yeah, I guess so," Roy said, a knot tightening in his stomach.

"Well, goodbye. Say hi to Jo and the kids for me!"

"Will do. Bye Chet, you two bring in plenty of fish for the next shift, okay?" Roy had said the words with a smile, but as he hung up the phone, the smile turned into a frown.

"What's wrong?" Joanne asked.

Roy looked at his wife, "You haven't gotten a call from Johnny, have you?"

"Roy, don't you think I would have told you that?"

Roy nodded, "Yeah… well, apparently nobody else has heard from him either."

Joanne came over and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure he's alright," she offered.

Roy simply hoped.

-line-

"You are welcome to stay, if you are still not sure," Roderick Gage said as he shared a mug of coffee with his nephew.

Roderick was an old man who many considered callous. He rarely smiled or laughed and had no time for small talk. You were either worth his time or you weren't and he had little patients for fools. But there was another side to Roderick Gage, one that his nephew knew very well.

Roderick had raised Johnny after his parents' deaths. For much of his life, it had been his uncle who had been his rock. When he had had nightmares, it had been his uncle who came and soothed him. When he was sick, it had been his uncle to tend to him. When he had been angry, his uncle had calmed him. When he had needed discipline, again, his uncle was there. Others may see his uncle as distant and cold, but Johnny would only ever know him as the man ever present and calming in his youth.

Sitting here in the kitchen of his childhood home, he felt for the first time in a long time that same sense of calm. He didn't know how much he had missed it until now. When he had joined the fire academy, he and his uncle had had a falling out. He had barely spoken to the man in six years.

"Thanks… I don't want to bother you. I… I just don't know what to do," Johnny said softly.

"Your work, it bothers you," Roderick observed.

"Yeah… some days more than others…" Johnny said with a soft smile.

"I take it, these are one of those days?" Roderick asked.

Johnny nodded. He stared at the mug before him. The pain was easing, the grief was lessening, but it was still raw. It was still a fresh wound.

"You came over and you looked like a ghost. You came and shared a meal, we talked of small things, and we worked the horses together all yesterday, but you have not told me why you came," Roderick said bluntly, taking a sip from his own coffee.

Johnny's mouth twitched, the faintest hint of his crooked smile gracing his face. His Uncle loved that smile; it made the young man look like his father, Roderick's brother in law. Roderick had thought very highly of his sister's husband and had considered him to be his brother. Johnny was, for Roderick, a wonderful combination of his parents. He had his mother's coloring and looks but his father's expressions. John also had his father's sense of adventure and mischief, but some times unfortunately for the young man, he also had his mother's compassion and depth of emotions.

"Diwi…" Johnny said softly, catching his uncle's attention.

"Coyote," Roderick repeated when his nephew didn't continue.

Johnny gave him a shadow of a smile that failed to come close to reaching his eyes, "would you believe Diwi told me to come here?"

"Yes. The coyote is a trickster, but he is a guide too," Roderick replied and then he waited. Johnny was dancing around his question, but he would get to it in time.

"I…uh…there was a fire at the end of my shift," John began and he sounded unsure. After losing his father to a fire, Roderick had all but forbidden Johnny from having anything to do with the Fire Department. When Johnny had disobeyed him the rift between them began.

"It was a bad one?" Roderick asked, his tone neutral.

Johnny shook his head, "It was a standard house fire. But there was a girl inside… she was scared and hid. I found her, but not in time."

Roderick nodded, he understood. Johnny was not the first fire fighter to sit at his table and question fate. "Still, you tried to save her?"

Johnny nodded, just once and remained silent. He stared at the mug before him, lost in a world of hurt. Roderick understood then why his nephew had come to him, he needed a tether. He had come to him because he needed the familiarity and stability of home. That thought made Roderick feel warm in his heart, that Johnny still thought of this place as home even after all the fighting.

He placed his hand on John's and though the young man didn't look up, he knew he had his attention, "She was not the first you have lost, and not the first child you've seen die." Those words were statements of fact, not questions, Johnny had never really told him of his works but he knew. "So tell me, why does she hurt the most?"

"Because… because there's supposed to be a balance. Each shift… there's gonna be some you can't save, I know that, but normally the saves out weigh… There were three people before her who all died. I couldn't help them. But it would have been okay, I mean the balance would have been restored if I could have just saved her. If I had managed to… a little girl with her whole life a head of her and a family who adored her, she's worth three failures, isn't she?" John asked, looking at his uncle pleadingly.

Roderick shook his head and patted Johnny's hands. "Each life is precious and no life is worth another. You cannot bargain with death and sometimes there is no balance in the world for us to see. Sometimes the Great Spirit makes us angry and hurt. It is not because we are bad or being punished, it is not because others are either. It is because the Great Spirit has another view of the world; he has his own sense of balance. But he does not strike that balance in malice. There is love in what he does, even if we cannot see it."

"What love is there in the death of a six year old girl?" Johnny snapped, angry but Roderick expected this.

"You mourn for her. You, a stranger to her family, feels her death so personally. You will remember her and in the future you will try harder to honor her. Her death with give you strength to save another, and what greater love is there than that of the ones who fight for a stranger's life?"

Johnny was silent, his anger dying slowly as he thought upon his uncle's words. They made a strange kind of sense and he felt the pain in him easing as the logic set in. Roderick could sense the change in the young man and he knew that now was the right time to ask the question Johnny was pondering himself.

"If this work takes so much of your soul," Roderick asked, his voice soft so as not to startle his nephew, "why do you do it?"

Johnny tilted his head to the side as if he was listening to something just out of earshot. It wasn't a strange question, he had been asked it many times. Hell, he had asked himself the same question many times. Why was he a firefighter? The answer he always gave was that it was in honor of his father who had been one and he felt it was his calling. Except that, that wasn't the answer. That wasn't why he did this, but he doubted he could ever make someone understand why.

"I… it whispered to me and I listened," Johnny said softly. "I didn't think I wanted this but it whispered to me. Some guys heard a calling and knew that this was what they wanted but me, it whispered. Callings are loud and definite, this wasn't. I didn't know that this was what I wanted until my first fire…."

"What was it about your first fire?" Roderick asked, his tone still careful.

"I knew I could make it better, I knew how to make it better. Something awful was happening to someone and I could make it better. That was all I wanted to do, and that realization made the whispering stop. It made it definite."

"So now, do you hear that whispering again?"

John looked at his uncle, a little taken aback. He hadn't really considered the 'whispering' in a very long time. Although, when he thought about it, he had heard it several times in the past, the most recent of which was right before he joined the paramedics program. And now that he was thinking about it, now that it was forefront, he was suddenly aware of it again. He could hear the whisper just off to the side, just out of range….

"Yeah. I do," John answered with a whisper of his own.

"And what does it tell you?" Roderick asked.

"To go back."

-line-

Roy sighed as he hung up the phone. It had to be his hundredth attempt to call his partner, his friend, in the last day. It was the hundredth time there had been no answer.

Joanne watched him from the living room, concern showing on her face. "Maybe he went camping? Or has a date?" she suggested… hoped.

"Maybe…" Roy sighed. It had been three days since the shift from hell. Three days that he had gotten to spend in the loving arms of his wife watching as his children played. A day where the most important thing he had to do was read a story to his kids. It had done him a world of good as he could already feel the events of his last shift fade into memories. And once his healing had begun, he had felt the fist pegs of guilt.

He had forgotten about Johnny. In his own sadness and grief, he had forgotten his partner, until the moment Chet called. He knew that Johnny wouldn't hold it against him. Hell he probably wouldn't even have noticed. But Roy had. Roy had been selfish, needing time alone to deal with his emotions, and he knew that he needed that time. But so did Johnny…

 _Johnny needs it more than I do…_ he thought to himself. After all, it was Johnny who had preformed CPR on the grandfather the whole way to the hospital when he'd coded in the back of the ambulance. It was Johnny who had made the grim discovery of the two dead victims in the car accident. And it was Johnny who had carried the little girl out of the house.

Roy had witnessed all the deaths but it had been Johnny who had lost the fight with the reaper. And then his partner had to go home and face that alone. "I should have invited him over… I shouldn't have left him alone…." Roy said, worry tying his gut in knots.

"Don't start that Roy. Don't do that to yourself. You needed time to process, just as much as Johnny, and Chet, and Marco, and Mike, and Captain Stanley. You needed time with your family away from everything that reminds you of work. You didn't invite Johnny over and he didn't ask to come because you both knew that," Joanne said sternly.

"But Jo… He's alone… He doesn't have someone waiting for him to come home," Roy tried to explain, not sure if he could. Not sure if Joanne would understand. The county had just lost a paramedic about three months ago, a young guy like Johnny. He'd eaten a gun after one too many bad calls.

"Johnny's stronger than that," Joanne reassured, sensing her husband's fears.

"But he shouldn't have to be alone," Roy said and he picked up his car keys. He moved over to Joanne and gave her a kiss, "I'll be back soon."

"You'll bring him here?" she said, wanting to see the young man for herself to make sure he was okay. "Even if you have to drag him, you'll bring him here?"

Roy smiled a tired half smile, "Even if I have to drag him."

-line-

Pulling into Johnny's apartment complex, Roy was disappointed to see that the younger man's Land Rover wasn't there. Parking, he frowned at the empty parking spot. He climbed out of his car and made his way to the apartment, letting himself in with the key Johnny had given him.

Once inside, Roy knew instantly that Johnny had not been home. The apartment had the distinct feeling of lack of life that came with prolonged absences, like four days of not being home. Feeling the knot of worry tighten in his gut, Roy moved into the kitchen where he knew Johnny kept a pad of paper. He quickly scribbled a note that simply read, 'come over, Roy'. Then, with one last look around, Roy made his way back out to the parking lot.

He was just shutting the door and getting ready to lock it when a honk startled him. He looked up and smiled. Johnny was just pulling in. Roy sighed with relief as he watched the younger man slowly climb out of his Land Rover and make his way up.

"Breaking and entering's a crime, ya know," Johnny said tiredly. He was trying to joke, but he was tired. Roy could tell.

"It's not breaking and entering, it's a welfare check," Roy jibbed back as he examined his partner. The young man looked beat, and he was moving rather stiffly. He didn't look like he had been camping though, and the clothes he was wearing looked like the same ones he'd worn when he left the station. "It's what happens when you call your partner a hundred times and he doesn't answer," Roy added letting some of the worry he'd been feeling seep into his voice.

Johnny shook his head a little ruefully and walked up to his apartment door. He didn't try to go in though; instead he faced Roy and met his eyes. He knew he looked rough, and he knew that eyes showed every emotion that he was feeling. He was too tired to hide them, and besides, this was Roy. There was no hiding them.

"I'm alright Roy. I wasn't home. I went out of town the last few days…"

"Went camping?" Roy asked eyeing Johnny with suspicion.

"No. I went to the reservation… to see my uncle," Johnny admitted softly, though he almost laughed when Roy's jaw dropped.

"I thought that you and your uncle weren't speaking…" Roy managed to say when the shock had worn off some.

Johnny shrugged, "So did I, but I… I was running away Roy. If you want me to be honest, I was driving and driving and I wasn't going to come back. I ended up pulling over on the side of Coyote Mountain. I… I wasn't sure what I was doing there or what I would have done if I had stayed there but I realized that I was so close to the reservation… I guess I just needed to go home."

Roy nodded and he swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat of the lump that had formed. That had been his biggest fear when Johnny hadn't answered. Losing Johnny… he didn't know if he could have ever faced that. There was a long moment of silence as the admission hung in the air before Roy finally found his voice again. "Joann and I want you to come over for dinner. I'm told to make sure you come, even if I have to drag you," Roy said a smile pulling at his lips.

Johnny smiled and shook his head, "Let me shower first. Okay?"

"Yeah, please do, you smell like horses," Roy came back.

"I told you I grew up on a ranch," Johnny said unapologetically.

"And what, there's no shower there?" Roy came back as he followed Johnny into the apartment.

"Nothing gets the smell of horse out Roy, trust me."

The banter continued pretty much throughout the rest of the night.

-line-

It was Monday morning, Roy, Marco, and Chet were all getting dressed in the locker room. The Captain and Mike were already in the day room talking about their days off over coffee. Johnny walked in with twenty minutes to spare causing the others to look up. He was moving stiffly and still looked rough, but Roy wasn't too concerned about that, not after hearing what he had spent the weekend doing. The other two however, they were taken aback.

"Whoa there Johnny, what ran you over?" Chet asked, needling.

Johnny rolled his eyes and eased himself out of his shirt, still stiff. "Nothing Chet, but your concern is touching," came the sarcastic reply.

Roy shook his head and Marco snickered as Chet huffed in mock hurt. Roy patted Johnny on the shoulder before heading out followed by Marco. Johnny nodded to them and bit back a groan as he realized that he was now alone with Chet.

"Well then you must just be getting old if a little camping trip made you that tired," Chet baited again.

"Didn't go camping Chet," Johnny said shrugging into his work shirt.

"Oh? You didn't?" Chet asked, sounding a little taken aback. "Marco and I went fishing, we tried to call to ask if you wanted to come. When I couldn't get ya, I thought you went camping."

Johnny looked over at the lineman and was a little surprised to see worry in his face. Then again, after the conversation he and Roy had had last night, Johnny could understand. Bad shifts made all the guys worry a little bit more about each other.

"I went to see my uncle," Johnny told Chet in an attempt to ease his concern. It worked.

Chet nodded in an attempt to hide his relief, "Must have been nice. I spent most of my time with my brother's family."

Johnny smiled at that, "How is Lizzie?"

Chet beamed at the mention of his niece, "Oh she's fantastic, Johnny. She's… she's perfect."

There was a comfortable pause in the conversation as Johnny finished lacing up his boots. For a long while the two simply shared a rare moment of companionship before Chet, oddly gently, broke the silence.

"Hey John… I uh… I just wanted to make sure that you knew… you didn't mess up. You couldn't have done anything else," Chet said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny paused in his movements, taking a moment to gather himself. He and Roy had had this same conversation last night and he wasn't really ready to have it again but he was well aware that he was going to have to. Not just with Chet, but with everyone else because at 51, they were a band of brothers and they watched out for each other.

"Thanks Chet. I'm almost at the point I believe that," he said softly, giving his friend the most honest answer he could.

Chet nodded, he rested a hand on Johnny's shoulder for a moment as he headed to the day room and said, "You'll see Johnny. This shift will be alright. We'll get our balance back."

Then he was gone, and Johnny was left alone in the locker room. With a sigh, Johnny looked at the Smokey the Bear poster that hung in his locker and touched it lightly. In his mind the whispering that he had been hearing since the last shift, since he lost the little girl, finally stopped.

"Yeah… we'll get it back," Johnny said before heading out to roll call.


End file.
